The Fallen
by Jupiter Sun
Summary: Kanda is nineteen when he meets an angel made of dust and brittle bones.


**A/N:** If this doesn't confuse you, read it again.

**Disclaimer:**Yes, I own dgm (that's a lie).

* * *

_**The Fallen**_

6.

Allen sits on Kanda's bed and flexes his wings. A gentle breeze from the open window ruffles his white hair as he stretches and yawns.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Kanda is curled up in a corner of the couch and when Allen smirks at him from across the room something stirs in the pit of his stomach. Kanda Yuu is not weak.

"I already told you," Allen whispers.

Soft moonlight reflects off his pale skin and Kanda can almost see the flash of his silver eyes. He wonders how much it would take to break him.

Allen gets up off the bed and makes his way across the room. When he gets to the foot of the couch, he reaches out a hand to trace Kanda's jaw. Kanda slaps his hand away.

"Don't fucking touch me you bastard."

Allen laughs and the sound is light and carefree. Kanda finds himself thinking of the summer wind and daisies dripping with dew.

"Kanda, I lo-"

"Shut up."

Kanda's eyes are wide and red from lack of sleep and too much caffeine. Allen steps back and cocks his head to the right.

"Hhmmm…okay. I'll go now."

"I don't care."

Allen smiles and Kanda's breath hitches. Then Allen is gone.

* * *

5.

Redemption takes on the form of sick, twisted holly stems and the gnarled hands of broken clocks. He counts in his head, back from one hundred thousand and seven. Lucifer gives him a basket of apples and staples his wings back together.

"You don't deserve to be saved."

Paper-cut stars hang loosely in the sky with wire and fishing line. One day he cuts them all down with a pair of rusty scissors and hides them under his pillow. He is selfish and keeps all the wishes to himself.

* * *

7.

Two days later, Kanda takes Allen bowling.

Allen fumbles with the bowling ball and grimaces, his wings bound too tightly to his back with gauze and duct tape. He looks like he almost belongs here, surrounded by giggling girls, half-drunk men and linoleum slick floors. His two-sizes-too-big sweater slips and reveals a pale shoulder; the sight makes Kanda's eyes water. Allen is too much white in a world made of monotone greys and navy blues.

There is the reaching and gasping for air as life stops and moves forward in extra slow motion and the knock knock knocking of bowling pins dropping dead. Allen gets his first strike and is ecstatic; eyes alight with a fire Kanda thought had long burned out.

It may be this moment that Kanda finds him to be the most beautiful.

Later, Allen kisses him in a back alleyway on their way home. Allen's lips are soft and sweet and everything all at once, so Kanda pushes him away and spits in disgust.

"I hate you," he says. Allen winces at the desperation in his voice.

Kanda is a horrible liar, but even worse at telling the truth.

* * *

4.

And like morning lightening, quick and violent, he falls. Descending from heaven, a symphony of joy, cheer, sorrow, and a blur of redgreenblue. It is hard to miss.

He passes through the Milky Way, collecting star dust in his hair and eyes. The moon weeps from her cradle of tinsel and glitter while he spirals towards earth.

Then, in a flash of light, the seasons change from bright emeralds and yellow to a fiery red-orange. Cool autumn winds tug at his hair and steal away his breath. The devil laughs and welcomes him to a whitewashed prison.

* * *

8.

Brilliant flecks of white and snow drift lazily from the sky and get caught in their eyelashes. Allen tells him the story of how the Lord created the heavens and earth in seven days, voice muffled by woolen scarves and a cold. Kanda scoffs as he talks about fallen angels and broken wings and he flicks the boy's nose.

"That's stupid," he says.

"I'm here aren't I?" and Allen proceeds to tackle him into a snow bank.

At night, they stumble into Kanda's apartment with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. Allen makes hot chocolate and Kanda chastises him for nearly knocking over a (very expensive) vase with his wings.

The kitchen's fluorescent lights cast long shadows across Allen's face and Kanda has to resist the urge to reach out and touch his wings; count every feather and see if they are as soft as they look.

"I don't love you," he says and Allen looks up from the stove with an unreadable expression.

"Sure," is his reply.

The heater is broken and frost collects on the windows while the cold nips at their toes. Allen keeps hogging the covers, but Kanda can't find it in himself to push him away.

* * *

3.

The world tilts and spins off its axis. Crooked. Unraveling. And the angels laugh at him, mock him from their place high in the clouds.

The earth crumbles to ashes and maybe he's drowning in the sky.

He clutches desperately at the galaxies technicolour threads. Saint Michael took his wings and the stars cry out in a chorus of desperation when everything is thrown off balance. Darkness seeps into the cracks of his broken, patchwork heart. Limitless and blinding.

He lets go.

* * *

9.

"If I left, would you miss me?"

Allen tugs on the sheets and runs a hand through his hair. Kanda snorts.

"Why would I miss a stupid bean sprout like you?"

Allen's smile nearly blinds him with the hope in it and Kanda feels like he finally sees him for what he is; a boy with marble eyes and waxen feathers. Allen pulls the other close and brushes away his dark bangs, kissing the cuts on his forehead. His hands are bleeding so Allen presses his lips to the centres of Kanda's palms and stains his mouth red.

"If I died, would you cry?"

Kanda frowns, as if deep in thought. "Angel's don't die."

Allen sits up in the bed, his soft feathers tickling Kanda's shoulder.

"I'm not an angel," said in a matter-of-fact tone and Kanda wants to hit him.

"Right, whatever."

He falls asleep with the boy (angel) curled in his arms, hot breath against his collar bone. The next morning, he wakes up to an empty bed and feathers in his hair.

* * *

2.

It is in Eden, where the air smells of spider lilies and lotus, that he meets the serpent. Sly fellow who likes morning glory and playing games.

He makes the serpent a daisy chain and shoos it out of the garden, lest the others hear. A transient existence he is living, standing on the edge of the universe like a king of kings.

And the serpent introduces him to a dying boy, dressed in silk and jade. A beautiful boy. A dead boy.

So, the angel saves him.

* * *

10.

Sometime between midnight and three, Kanda thinks he might be in like (love) with Allen. Just a little.

It might have started six days ago, when Allen helped him wash the bloodstains out of the bed sheets and Kanda first noticed that Allen's wings were stained a bright scarlet. Or perhaps even before that, as early as the day they first met, when Allen had fallen in through Kanda's window and tracked mud through his living room.

Not that it really matters anymore.

Because.

Three. Three days is how long Allen has been missing and Kanda doesn't care because this. Is. Not. Love.

It's not because Allen is kind or pure or a fucking angel (and if Allen were here he would tell him that he is not. Not anymore) but really the opposite. His anger and confidence and stubborn belief in a God that hates him. But Kanda does not miss it. Not one bit.

(Because denial is much easier than facing the truth)

It is hard though. Three days. Three fucking days. In retrospect, it really isn't that long, but for Allen it could be an eternity. After all, he is a boy who measures time in the shifting winds and dead leaves. Because he is that kind of person.

With a huff and rustling of sheets, Kanda gets up from bed to get himself a glass of water. He drips red on the carpet and remembers how Allen once told him that the best kind of beauty never lasts anyway.

So much for forever.

A week later, Kanda stops bleeding and he finally understands.

* * *

1.

A flash of light.

Spinning. Swirling dust and ash, choking broken down lungs and a frantic heart.

Sky is painted black with glue on lights.

The earth shudders and shakes. Cracking right down the middle and opening the floodgates in a torrent of waves. Baby eyes take in the world for the first time. Bright, beautiful in a tragic way.

And "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" the angels sing.

"Our saviour is born! Hallelujah!"

Out come the birds and the trees and fish. And the angels, they dance.

Small hands grasp at broken promises and dreams that slip through fingers like sand (one day he will be great).

This is how it all began.

* * *

end


End file.
